


Almost Love

by nothingwithoutyouxo



Category: Spring Awakening - Sheik/Sater
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bars and Pubs, Crack?, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2021-01-05 03:17:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21206522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nothingwithoutyouxo/pseuds/nothingwithoutyouxo
Summary: "I know how to fix this," Hanschen muttered, leaning forward against the table.Moritz didn't really have any other options. "How?""You just need to make out with someone."Or, Moritz's ex shows up at a bar they're in and Hanschen takes things into his own hands.





	Almost Love

**Author's Note:**

> Been a minute. I'm back on my bullshit. I've had this idea so long the song I used for the title is no longer relevant but it's Almost Love by Sabrina Carpenter. Much love to you all.

Tonight was supposed to go well. They hadn’t been out in forever and it was starting to make an impact, restlessness settling in. Ernst planned everything, linking up all their schedules so they could find just one night to hang out together. It ended up being the perfect timing: the end of most of their midterm exams. When Ernst had gone as far as to plan Moritz’s outfit for him, Moritz realised that they both needed this. 

Hanschen picked the bar and the four of them walked the few blocks from Wendla’s apartment light on their feet and brewing with excitement. It was cold out, but the streets were lively as they ducked down an alley and made their way in, the neon sign greeting them as they did so. Things had been looking up when they managed to score a booth. It was practically unheard of at that time of night. Hanschen shouted them the first round of drinks and soon enough they were chatting amongst themselves, catching up after the last few months of intense study and exhaustion. Moritz was in a contented haze as it steadily got louder around him. 

Unfortunately, the universe seemed to have a rule that barred Moritz from enjoying himself for more than forty minutes at a time. The door swung open and someone all too familiar trailed in with a group of friends. Now he wanted to drop to the floor under their table and hope to god that he could disappear. He went very still, and ducked closer to Wendla to try and hide from view, hoping that the dark lighting would work in his favour. 

“What’s wrong?” Wendla asked, immediately putting an arm around him as a form of comfort.

Moritz could feel the eyes of his three friends on him, but he couldn’t find his voice yet. His eyes were trained somewhere passed them, as if tempting fate to see if _ someone _would look at him. 

Ernst glanced over his shoulder and noticed what he was looking at. He was tempted to slam his hand against the table as a result. Of course Moritz’s ex had to be here tonight, of all nights. Just the sight of him made Ernst feel on edge, and if that were the case he could only imagine how Moritz was feeling. “On the one time we actually leave the apartment,” he sighed, turning back to face them all. 

Everytime Moritz saw him he realised just how stupid he’d been to date him at all. Bobby looked as sleazy as ever and he thought he might have been dangerously close to throwing up. This wasn’t fair. He wasn’t even drunk yet. “He better not come over here,” he said, a wave of fear hitting him just at the thought. He focused his eyes instead on the half empty drink in front of him, hoping that would stop him from spiralling away. 

“If he does, I’ll hit him,” Ernst replied. He’d burrowed closer to Hanschen, as if he too needed protection. 

Wendla squeezed Moritz’s shoulder gently to try and keep him calm. “Between the three of us we can take him. Hanschen’s still taller than him,” she reminded.

Hanschen nodded. “I’m terrifying. You know this.”

Moritz couldn’t help but crack a smile at that. “Is he looking at me?” He hated that he felt like he had to ask, like it mattered. 

None of them were game enough to check, not wanting to draw his attention to them. 

“He’s probably seen you,” Ernst shrugged. “But that doesn’t have to ruin tonight. We’re having fun, right?”

He wasn’t sure how to say that whatever sense of joy he’d been feeling had already subsided. It was likely they could already tell. 

Hanschen rested forward against the table. “I know how to fix this,” he said.

Ernst and Wendla leaned in like they were high schoolers sharing secrets at lunch. 

“How?” Moritz asked. Hanschen’s plans always seemed to involve him embarrassing himself somehow, intentional or not. He wasn’t sure if he was ready to trust a different outcome just yet.

“You just need to make out with someone.” He said it as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Moritz didn’t quite feel that way.

“Why?” he whined, his face scrunching up. 

“Because that’s what people do in bars.”

“Hanschen, I’m not like you,” he reminded. “I can’t just talk to people.”

“Of course you can.”

Somehow that just made Moritz feel worse. He slumped in his seat and reached for his drink, contemplating whether or not sculling the entire thing would help in this situation. 

“I don’t know if this is a good idea,” Ernst muttered, which definitely didn’t help his confidence.

“It can’t be any of us. Bobby know us,” Wendla cut in. 

Hanschen rolled his eyes, and gestured to the large amount of people in the room. “I’ll pick someone,” he said.

Moritz wondered what would happen if he just walked out right now.

Wendla raised an eyebrow. “_ You’ll _pick someone.”

“Don’t you trust me?” Hanschen asked. “Moritz, you trust me right.”

He didn’t say anything, staring at his half-empty glass. 

Hanschen turned to Ernst instead. “If you pick someone weird, Hanschen, I swear -”

“Just trust me,” he repeated.

“I suppose it’s either this or have Bobby’s eyes on us all night,” Wendla mused. “I’d prefer it if he dropped dead but you know.”

Moritz glanced around the bar absently. He didn’t know a single person here not that he’d expected to. Maybe it was better that way. “How are you gonna pick someone?” he asked, finally making eye contact with his friends again. 

Hanschen smirked at him. “I know your type, so the opposite of that.”

That just made him anxious, and a little stressed out. He knew he had bad taste in everything, he’d been told for forever. He guessed Hanschen might be able to pick someone decent. At least, he had to hope that he could. If there was one thing he admired about Hanschen it was his everlasting confidence. Moritz swallowed, Wendla and Ernst started up some idle conversation to try and distract him while Hanschen’s eyes roamed around the bar. 

“There,” he muttered, breaking back into the conversation. “Guy in the grey suit that just sat at the bar. That’s your guy.”

Moritz looked over at the guy Hanschen was pointing out. He hadn’t quite known what to expect, but at least he seemed to be their age. Maybe he even went to their college. He guessed that would at least give him something to talk about if he needed it. “I don’t know him,” he said, doubt coursing through him.

“That’s the point.”

Right. Of course. “What if he’s weird?” he asked. “What if he’s like a serial killer or something?”

Hanschen rolled his eyes. “Moritz he’s unassuming as hell and probably desperate. You’ll be fine.”

“Wait, did you pick him ‘cause he seems desperate?”

“No, I picked him because he looks like he reads, which is the opposite of your type.”

Moritz hated that he couldn’t dispute that. “Do you think _ I’m _desperate?” he pressed.

Ernst cut in before Hanschen could reply. “Needing to get an asshole ex off your back doesn’t make you desperate,” he reassured.

That would have made him feel better, if Wendla hadn’t giggled next to him.

“How do you know he’ll say yes?”

Hanschen shrugged. “I don’t.”

“Wow that really helps my crippling anxiety. Thanks,” he muttered. 

Ernst reached over and tapped his hand. “Relax,” he smiled. “This is a step up for you.”

“I don’t come to bars with you so you can roast me,” he replied, pulling his hand away.

“No, but that’s what my best friend status gives me rights to.”

“He’s not wrong,” Wendla added. 

Moritz sighed. Yeah, he couldn’t disagree with them on that either. Well, what was the worst thing that could happen? If the guy said no then he’d just crawl back over and beg his friends to leave with him. Wendla would let him do it. Moritz took a deep breath and downed the rest of his drink. 

“Yes!” Hanschen cheered. 

“Ok, fine. God, how do I - how do you do this?” he asked. 

Wendla rubbed his arm. “Just be upfront about it. I’m sure he gets it.”

He nodded, and directed his next question to her because he knew the other two were going to laugh. “He’s pretty do you think he’s done this before?”

Wendla had to try her hardest to force back a smirk, and Moritz wished he couldn’t tell. “Maybe,” she replied. 

Hanschen laughed, muttering the word ‘Pretty’ under his breath. Ernst nudged his side to tell him to shut up.

_ Well, here goes nothing. _“If this ends badly just - just get me out of here.”

“Got it. Break a leg.”

***

Moritz would say this was the worst thing to ever happen to him, but that wouldn’t be true considering Bobby was standing on the other side of the room. _ He _was the worst thing that happened, whatever was about to couldn’t top that. Even so, he felt unsteady on his own feet and he hoped that his anxiety wouldn’t come across too much. It might not help his case. He was trying to think of what to say to this guy as he made his way over to the bar. He wasn’t sure how to start a conversation, let alone ask someone to kiss him. Moritz took a seat on the stool next to the guy, who looked up at him as he did so. His first thought was that he did look like he read. Maybe that was just the glasses. 

“So this is gonna sound weird,” he said, which was probably not the best way to start. 

The guy raised an eyebrow, a smirk seemed to be tempting him. “How so?”

Moritz took a deep breath. The only way he was going to get this out is if he just rushed through it. If he did it now then at least all his cards were on the table. Maybe that would force away the tiny little seed of guilt inside him. “My ex is over there and I need you to kiss me,” he said. 

He laughed. “What’s in it for me?”

That wasn’t something he had an answer to. His eyes widened and he considered glancing back at his friends but had no idea how to communicate all this with them.

“Sorry, I was joking,” he added. “Didn’t mean to freak you out.”

“Oh. No, it’s fine. I’d be pretty freaked out if I were you.”

The guy regarded him for a moment, taking him in. Moritz didn’t know what else to say so he just let him, regardless of how uncomfortable it made him feel to be judged. “I’m Melchior,” he introduced himself.

“Moritz.”

Melchior smiled and turned to face him. “So, is this a plan to make your ex jealous?” he asked.

Maybe his first thought shouldn’t have been that this guy’s smile was kind of magnetic. That would be agreeing that Hanschen had done something right and he couldn’t have that. “Honestly, I have no idea. It wasn’t really my plan.”

He nodded. “Friend’s suggestion?”

“Essentially.”

Melchior laughed, and took a sip of his drink. “What’s our story then? Have we been seeing each other or have we just met?”

“If we were seeing each other, I’d probably have kissed you by now,” he shrugged.

He smiled. “Why don’t you?”

Moritz genuinely considered it, which definitely wasn’t something he expected so soon. “I think I’ll stick to we just met,” he muttered, his eyes fell to the glass in Melchior’s hand to avoid eye contact. 

He must have noticed. “Did you want a drink?” he asked.

“Oh, you don’t have to.”

“No, on me. What do you have?”

Moritz tapped the bar gently with his fingers. “What are you having?”

“Whisky.”

He winced at that.

Melchior smiled and pushed the glass away from himself. “I’ve heard that it’s an ‘acquired taste’. I know … how pretentious that sounds. My roommate got me into it.”

“You don’t have to stop,” Moritz muttered, as Melchior placed his hands in his lap instead.

“If you’re going to kiss me I don’t want you to be grossed out,” he replied. “So what do you drink?”

That wasn’t even something Moritz had considered, and yet somehow it was nicer than anything Bobby had ever done for him. He reminded himself that Melchior was a stranger and had absolutely no reason to do something like that, and had no idea why he would. “Cider,” he said. “Usually.” He felt kind of stupid, cider was like child’s play in comparison to Melchior’s half empty glass of whisky.

Melchior didn’t bat an eye. “Apple or pear?”

“Apple.”

He nodded, and tried to catch the bartender’s eye. While he ordered the drink, Moritz tried to think of something to say. Anything, a question, a phrase, a quote, an interest. He was truly awful at talking to people and he didn’t want it to be something that Melchior could pick up on. The bartender placed his glass down in front of him and offered him a smile. Moritz tried his best to smile back at her.

“So is your ex the living trashbag in the corner by the pool table?” Melchior asked, hand holding onto his glass again just for something to do. 

He wondered how he was able to tell. “Greasy hair who looks like he’s craving a smoke at all times? Yeah that’s him,” he sighed. “Why?”

Melchior shrugged. “He keeps looking over at you. I can see why you need an escape.”

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. It was the kind of possessive behaviour he’d learned to expect when they were together. Moritz grabbed for his drink.

“How long since the breakup?”

“Not long enough.”

Melchior nodded, but didn’t press any further than that, and Moritz couldn’t help but be grateful.

He placed his glass back down a little too heavily and winced at the sound. “You’re not my usual type,” Moritz explained, regretting it as soon as it came out. Considering how Bobby was, it wasn’t something very flattering. “I’ll be honest, I wasn’t the one who chose you.”

“So the point was that I’m not your type at all?”

“At least how my friends see it. You’re kind of the opposite.” Moritz wasn’t sure what to make of the way Melchior was looking at him, so he quickly added, “No offence.”

He shrugged. “None taken. I guess if I’m only your type for a few hours, it’s better than I could hope for.”

Moritz wasn’t sure how to tell him he had no idea what that meant. He took another sip of his drink. “You’re not a poet are you?” he asked.

Melchior laughed. “No, I’m in journalism. Well, technically.”

“Technically?”

He pulled at his jacket. “This is for an internship. They don’t let me write anything yet.”

“So the alcoholism is kicking in early then?” he teased.

“Don’t tell my mum.”

Moritz laughed. “I promise.”

“So what do you do? You know, besides pick up people in bars.”

“Oh, you don’t have to let yourself be picked up,” he said.

“I’m ok with it.”

Moritz swallowed. If that was flirting, and he was sure it must have been, he had no idea what to do about it. “I’m, uh, a photographer. Technically.”

He smirked. “Technically.”

Was his drink starting to hit him or was it just really warm in here? “I’m studying at the moment, but that’s only because I can’t sustain myself just yet. I don’t really have anything else, you know?”

Melchior nodded. “Lots of artists in this city,” he mused.

“Makes it difficult.” Moritz wasn’t sure how to keep this going, or what he was leading it to. 

“Sorry, I’m not the best at small talk.”

He had no idea why Melchior was apologising, and if he’d made this awkward he had no idea how to fix it. “Honestly, me neither.”

“I always get told I talk too much, but never when it counts, I guess.”

“I’m the opposite. I can’t talk to people at all.”

Melchior smiled at him, his eyes glinting behind his glasses. “You’re doing ok so far.”

Moritz ducked his head so his hair fell into his eyes. “Thanks,” he muttered. That seemed to be as much as he could say, because a silence fell over the two of them. Moritz pulled at the hem of his shirt absently, trying to think of something to say so this didn’t turn into a quick disaster. 

“So, what do you usually take? You know, with your photography stuff?” Melchior asked.

He had to admire Melchior for trying to push the conversation along when he wasn’t brave enough himself. Especially considering Moritz could tell Melchior didn’t know anything about photography at all. It was kind of sweet that he was asking anyway. “Uh, people mostly. That … just means my friends. Architecture, sometimes. I don’t really do a lot of location shooting. I get too much secondhand embarrassment being around people.” 

“Don’t blame you.”

“I just don’t like eyes on me. Being watched I just - I hate that.”

Melchior nodded. “I get it. It’s claustrophobic here sometimes.”

Wow, he really did get it. “Yeah. It is.” The air was getting too heavy, he needed to draw attention away from himself. “What about your journalism stuff. What do you journal?” he asked. 

Melchior smirked. “You mean what do I write?”

“I - yeah, sorry. I think - I think my drink might be starting to hit me,” he muttered. That had to be it. Why else would be be getting so flustered?

“Your one cider?”

Moritz shook his head. “I had one before too.”

“So two ciders then.”

Yeah, that didn’t sound any better. “I’m … a lightweight,” he sighed. Admitting that was the worst, but the way Melchior smiled at him made it worth it. 

“I’ll be honest, I am too,” he nudged his whisky. “I’m kind of glad I stopped drinking that.”

“Isn’t it supposed to hit you harder or something? Makes you drunk quicker?”

Melchior shrugged. “I have no idea. I just use it to get the taste of workplace exploitation out of my mouth.”

Moritz had no idea if he was joking or not, but he laughed anyway.

“Sorry, that was heavy,” he muttered, resting a hand against Moritz’s knee.

For a moment, Moritz knew what drowning felt like. Then Melchior moved his hand again, and he automatically missed the comfort of the touch. Maybe he _ was _desperate. “No, I get it. It’s just The Experience,” he said. He wished he could say more, but he could never get his thoughts into the order that he needed them to be in.

Melchior didn’t say anything, but he looked like he understood, and Moritz was realised that he was being drawn to him in a way he hadn’t expected when he sat down. If he was braver than he was he would have done something about it. “I, uh, sorry what were we talking about?” Melchior asked, breaking through again. 

He wasn’t really sure anymore. Moritz swallowed and shook his head to clear it. “I think it might have been the devastating state of the world.”

“Oh, fuck that then,” he waved a hand.

Moritz laughed and reached for his drink, his hand a little more unsteady than it was ten minutes ago. “That’s the mood,” he muttered.

“Moritz, I -” Melchior didn’t finish his sentence, but it didn’t quite matter because Moritz was instantly distracted by the way his name sounded on Melchior’s lips. “I, um - sorry lost my train of thought I guess.”

“I seem to have that effect on people,” he muttered, and had no idea why. There was no truth to that statement at all.

Melchior smiled anyway. “Yeah, you do.”

If there was a way that he could respond to that, Moritz had no idea what it was. In fact, he had no idea about anything, and fortunately it didn’t seem to matter. Melchior leaned in and kissed him and Moritz’s brain shut down entirely, relishing in the feeling of it. He grabbed at the front of Melchior’s shirt and pulled him closer still. 

Melchior pulled away first, and just smiled at him. “If that was too forward -” he muttered.

Moritz shook his head. “No, it wasn’t.”

“Hopefully your ex saw that.”

“Who?”

Melchior laughed. “That doesn’t matter anymore?” he asked.

Moritz wasn’t sure if it ever truly had. He kissed Melchior again. 

***

“Damn, look at him go,” Ernst muttered, his eyes flicking back to his friends. He knew he shouldn’t have been watching Moritz, but his instinct was always to keep an eye out for him.

“Hope he gives us a muffin basket or something,” Hanschen shrugged, putting an easy arm around Ernst.

He rolled his eyes. “I don’t think Moritz would.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean Moritz.”

Two pairs of eyes locked onto him. “What?”

Hanschen downed the rest of his drink. “That’s Melchior. He’s in like three of my classes. He’s kind of a jerk.”

Wendla leaned against the table. “You set Moritz up with a jerk?” she asked, her tone cutting right through him.

He held up a hand in surrender. “Give him two weeks with Moritz and he won’t be a jerk anymore.”

Neither of them could dispute that. Moritz made everyone around him better. 

Ernst sighed. “Wait is this the Melchior you always complain about?”

“The very same.”

“So you’re telling us that you set this up to make your lab partner less annoying?”

Hanschen rolled his eyes. “We don’t have lab partners but yes.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Wendla asked.

“Because you know me.”

**Author's Note:**

> As always, y'all can hit me up on [Tumblr](http://www.potter-awakening.tumblr.com)


End file.
